


Five Sleepovers

by linaerys



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-18
Updated: 2008-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-21 06:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linaerys/pseuds/linaerys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://pun.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://pun.livejournal.com/"><b>pun</b></a> gave me the prompt "Five Nights Alex Slept Over at Derek's."  This is a little looser interpretation of that.  Five sleepovers, of one sort or another  from 1993 to 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Sleepovers

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [](http://scribblinlenore.livejournal.com/profile)[**scribblinlenore**](http://scribblinlenore.livejournal.com/) for beta-ing for grammar _and_ for baseball, and to [](http://pun.livejournal.com/profile)[**pun**](http://pun.livejournal.com/) for the prompt and for getting me into this fandom in the first place.

**1\. 1993**

Derek can't stop glancing over at Alex sitting next to him on the bench. So that's Alex. They've talked on the phone for months ever since a friend of Alex's cousin got them in touch, but it's very different sitting next to him in the Miami stands, cheering and talking, feeling Alex's thigh bump his to get his attention whenever there's a good play. Alex has an easy laugh and an even easier smile. Maybe it's just because after this Derek gets to go back to Michigan for a few days of rest and Mom's cooking, but he's feeling pretty at home even here.

After the game they visit the locker room. Everyone on the Miami team already knows him and loves him like a charming, precocious little brother. "Tom says this is going to be my locker, right?" he asks a tall gangly boy, a promising left-handed UM pitcher. But then he glances at Derek, a little moment of uncertainty that Derek finds more charming than all the self-assured smirks he gives when the man who wants to be his coach next year talks about his high-energy fielding.

Every time they talk he asks Derek whether he thinks Alex should take the scholarship or not. Derek had a scholarship offer too, but he also knew he didn't need it that badly. It makes it hard to give advice.

Alex will make up his own mind, though. He likes to gather people's opinions, but in the end, he knows what he wants and how to get it. And even now, as Derek watches the team's captain talking, Alex nods along, but he also rolls his wrists, half his thoughts clearly on _his_ next game. Yeah, Alex knows what he's doing.

Derek has some friends in Miami who want to take him out while he's in town, but Alex asks him to come over for dinner and Derek doesn't think about saying no. Alex's mother greets them at the door. She wears a white embroidered blouse and black slacks, has short dyed-brown hair and a plump face, tired but kind. Alex towers over her and has to bend down to kiss her on the cheek.

"You too, Derek," she says, presenting the other cheek. Derek takes off his hat and does as he's told. "Alex needs more friends like you," she adds, before following Alex into the house. Alex's head brushes archways of the hacienda-style doorways when he walks through them—he hasn't grown used to his height enough not to graze some of them still.

She serves a ham with lots of sides, and there isn't much conversation while they all eat. Derek doesn't eat this well when he's on the road, and he's always hungry.

After dinner, he sits with Alex in his room, feeling like a kid again after six alienating months in the minors. It's fun to be the rising star, but it's still lonely in his hotel room at night.

Alex sits cross-legged at the head of his bed and talks non-stop about his favorite players, favorite teams, books he's read, pitchers he wants to face. His grin makes his cheeks apple-round in the light from his beside lamp.

". . . wish I could sign with the Yankees like you did, DJ. I'm so glad I finally got to meet you," he's saying, as he shifts and draws his knees up so he can rest his elbows on them. Alex tries nicknames on him, "DJ," "Jete," "D," and Derek likes every one of them.

Derek smiles and shakes his head. Alex seems so young, surrounded by faces of his boyhood heroes who look down on him from posters on the walls. His mirror is almost totally obscured by photos and baseball cards shoved into the frame. Near the bottom is Derek's picture from when he was All-American.

He wonders how Alex is going to fare if he signs with a team instead of college. If he goes to Miami his mom will still be able to cook for him every day. He'll come home and sleep in this room whenever he wants to.

"What do you think?" Alex asks again.

"I dunno, man. Wait for the draft." He leans his head back against the post of Alex's bed and looks at the ceiling. In Derek's room there are stars on the ceiling from the time he wanted to be an astronaut when he was eight and never got around to scraping them off.

Alex has a picture of Cal Ripken on his ceiling, hanging by three corners instead of four.

"Wait for the draft?"

"Yeah, see what you think about being on TV." He looks at Alex and smiles. "It's pretty awesome." Not that he's on TV much this year, except the occasional local channel, but it'll happen again.

"I bet." Alex grins at him. Both of their legs are so long they barely fit sitting on the bed like this, and Alex's bare toes nudge against Derek's calf. His toes have a light dusting of dark hair on them that begins again on his shins. Derek glances up and Alex is still looking at him, lips closed but still smiling.

"I should be getting back to the hotel," says Derek. He drove his beater over here, and he can probably find his way back. He's gotten good at learning places quickly while he's been on the road.

"You could stay. I have a sleeping bag," Alex suggests, then scowls and flushes. "There's a spare room, but my sister is using it."

The hotel will be more comfortable, but Alex is impossible to disappoint, looking at him, eyes wide and expectant.

"Sure," says Derek. "I bet your mom makes good pancakes."

"She does," Alex promises.

 **2\. 1997**

Alex walks by Derek's door on the way to the bathroom. Derek's sleeping, eyes closed, arm up above his head framing his face, clear in the fluorescent glare from the streetlights. He doesn't mean to take more than a glance, but something keeps him there. Derek's lips part slightly when he breathes. His chin is shadowed by a day's growth of stubble.

He's got to be tired from today's game. Rain delays kept breaking their pitchers' rhythms, and everyone was grateful when they could end it without going to the bottom half of the ninth.

Derek turns over in his sleep, and Alex can see the dips and bulges in his back muscles while he settles himself. He felt those earlier tonight, when they were groping on the couch, frustrating layers of clothing between them.

They went to sleep in separate rooms, like always, because handjobs on the sofa are one thing and sleeping side by side is something very much other.

If he dared, he'd go climb in next to Derek, so he could feel Derek's skin against his chest. It wouldn't be too different from how he made this happen in the first place, brushing up against Derek in the darkness of that SoHo club, standing too close, until finally Derek turned to him, and asked in a low voice, "Do you know what you're doing?"

Alex nodded firmly, while nerves and elation made his stomach jump, and, just for good measure, pressed up against Derek one more time so he could never pretend to misunderstand again.

But Derek sets the boundaries, down even to what kind of kisses he'll allow. Anything too tender and Derek takes his mouth away, moans his orgasm instead into Alex's neck.

Derek turns over again. "That's a little creepy, dude," he says, opening his eyes.

"Sorry," says Alex without trying to sound like he means it. He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. "I was thinking about how I should wake you up." He puts an edge into his voice, flippant, like maybe this time it's his show, but Derek smiles.

"Oh yeah, what'd you have in mind?"

"Why don't I show you?"

Derek meets his eyes for a long moment, a moment when Alex thinks he's gone too far, but then shakes his head and pulls up the blanket to welcome Alex in. He's wearing thin cotton boxers. His skin is warm on Alex's, and his mouth is hot when they kiss, when he takes Alex's lower lip gently between his teeth. _Why did you make me wait for this?_ Alex wants to ask, but he doesn't need to know. He's here now.

Alex pushes his fingers under the waistband of Derek's shorts and slides them off, pushing off the blanket as he goes, until he has Derek naked. He just _looks_ for a moment, taking in the muscles of Derek's hips, the tracery of hair down his stomach, his dick, flushed and hard between his legs. He looks long enough that Derek starts to say something, but it's lost in an "Oh, God," as Alex tongues his nipple and then kisses his way down and slides his mouth over Derek's dick.

He goes slow at first, paying careful attention to Derek's breathing. He's done this before, but this is _Derek_ , and it has to be perfect. He can't get enough of the little noises Derek makes in his throat when Alex draws his tongue slowly up the underside, or the way Derek's fingers dig into his shoulder, asking without words for _more, yes, that_.

"Alex," he says, low and ragged, in a voice like Alex hasn't really ever heard before. His cock grows thicker in Alex's mouth, pleasurably hard to handle now. His hips twitch—not quite a thrust—and he comes. He curves his hand around Alex's cheek before Alex releases him, just a graze of a caress.

Alex sits up on his knees and tilts his head to the side. "I'll just go get a glass of water," he offers, before he has to deal with the awkwardness of the post-blowjob kiss.

Derek sits up. "C'mere," he says, touching Alex's cheek again. He pulls Alex close and kisses him, soft and gentle. "Don't go anywhere."

 **3\. 2002**

Alex invited too many people, of course. If they still talked, Derek would have told him that you should only invite your close friends to your bachelor party. Not that Derek's had one, but he's been to enough to know that's how it goes. Mientkiewicz is here, and that's cool, but so are a lot of guys Alex barely knows. Derek doesn't know why he came either.

Except he does, because it's Alex. Because he doesn't have a choice. Because as annoyed as he is whenever he thinks about that damn article, and worse, all the press that came afterward, digging into their friendship, into things he doesn't want to have to answer questions about, when Alex asks for something with that smile that is Derek's alone, he can hardly remember why he was so angry in the first place.

Alex showed up at his doorstep to ask. Over the phone Derek could ignore the request or hang up. He's been doing plenty of that lately. But Alex came himself. "I want you there," he said, looking evenly at Derek.

Derek leaned his arm against his doorframe and tried not to smile at Alex's little-boy seriousness.

"So will you?"

"Where's my invitation?" Derek asked. He'd mostly decided he would go already.

"Huh?"

"I want my invitation."

Alex put his hands into the pockets of the buttery soft black leather coat he wears in the cold in New York and shrugged. "This is it."

"How am I going to remember when it is?"

Alex tried to hide a smile at the fact that Derek had tacitly agreed to come. He pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled a note on the back of it, date and place and "Alex," and handed it to Derek.

"You'll be there?" he asked again, and Derek smiled and nodded. Of course, as soon as Alex turned and left, the anger came back. Alex could be winning, no question, but it was all charm and no substance. He wadded up the note, then sighed, flattened it back out and fixed it the fridge with a magnet of the '99 schedule.

And the anesthetic properties of Alex's presence mean it's not too hard to let loose and enjoy the party once Derek actually gets there. Drinks at Flute, because Alex likes champagne better than beer, steaks at Peter Luger, then back into Manhattan for strippers at Scores.

"You should be happier for me, man," says Alex, too loudly, as they watch someone Derek doesn't know get a lap dance. Only Doug glances at the two of them. Everyone else is listening to one of Alex's Mariner guys tell a filthy story. Leave it to Alex to end up on the outside of his own party.

"I've never met the woman," he says, much quieter.

"She's a good girl."

Derek doesn't say anything to that, and then the orbit of the party drags Alex back in. His friends buy him a lap dance, which he submits to happily, although he spends more time watching Derek watching him than paying attention to the stripper.

Most of his friends have rooms in hotels on the park. "Come on, we're drinking in the suite next," Alex says when their time in the VIP room runs out.

Derek can't keep his eyes open, but Alex's still look as clear and bright as when the evening started. He claps a hand on Alex's shoulder. "Good luck."

All happiness drains from Alex's face. "Come back with us. Come back with me."

Derek's hand is still on Alex's shoulder, and then he moves it down to Alex's bicep. He wonders why he hasn't let go yet.

Alex's lower lip sticks out in a pout. He's had more than Derek thought at first. They never drank much when they were together, but Derek remembers from when they were even younger that Alex hides drunkenness well. It's more apparent in the redness staining the tops of his ears than in his behavior.

Most of the others have gone downstairs to the waiting cars, but Alex waits with Derek in the coatroom while he tugs his jacket on. He doesn't say anything, just watches Derek mutely.

"See you later." Derek pulls on his hat.

"It's my party," says Alex. "You can't go."

"Why don't you come back with me?" Derek offers, before giving himself a chance to think about it too hard.

He doesn't want to know how Alex explains that to his friends or whether he does at all. Maybe he outright says, "I'm gonna try to make it up with Jete," like he's tried so many times since the article, in public apologies and private.

He sits in the back of his car while Alex ducks his head into a couple cars, then opens the door and slides in next to Derek. Derek instructs the driver and closes the glass barrier. "Does this mean—?"

"This doesn't mean anything," Derek says, cutting him off. "You're getting married."

"It doesn't—"

"Don't. This is just—what it is." He doesn't dare a kiss with nothing but a glass partition separating them from discovery, but Derek can put his hand on Alex's thigh and watch him relax bonelessly into the seat as he moves his hand up. Alex closes his eyes and a small smile curves his lips, maybe a little smug, but Derek can't be too annoyed when he's the one causing it.

He did miss this. He presses Alex up against the inside of his apartment door and pushes his jacket off his shoulders, running his hand down Alex's sides, over a blue t-shirt that's too soft to be cotton, over skin he wanted to touch all night. He missed this a lot. No one else has ever been as good, as perfectly _there_ , as perfectly Derek's, as Alex.

The waistband of Alex's trousers are looser than Derek remembers—he expected after the Rangers' disappointing season, Alex would have already have started putting on his off-season weight. He can't complain, though; it lets him get fingers over the sensitive spot above Alex's hip that makes him ticklish or turned on when it's touched.

He bites Alex's neck, letting memory and instinct take over, keeping him pinned against the door with one arm. He undoes Alex's belt, and then Alex's cock is hard under his palm, thrusting into his curled fingers as they kiss. He comes in Derek's hand just like when they were kids, stealing moments out of the season together.

"I missed . . .," he starts to say as his fingers work at Derek's belt. He glances up at Derek.

"Come on. Bed."

He's so tired he flops down on the bed and lets Alex do the work of pulling his clothes off for him. The room spins for a moment, and then Alex is sucking on him, slowly and lovingly.

He stops too soon. "Don't fall asleep on me, man."

Derek opens his eyes. "I wasn't sleeping. Why don't you . . . continue?"

"It's my party."

Which means he wants Derek to fuck him. Lying here and letting Alex take care of him seems much more appealing right now. "I will in the morning," he promises, and feels guilty at the way Alex's face lights up at that. Spending the night is too much like old times, and he's supposed to be mad at Alex. He _is_ mad at Alex.

But fucking Alex awake in the morning is a wonderful image to contemplate as Alex sucks him off. He holds Derek's hip down when he comes, his arms stronger and his hands firmer than Derek remembers, and then flops down to sleep beside him. He falls asleep before Derek does, curled on his side around one of Derek's pillows.

Derek wakes early, as always, while Alex is still deeply asleep and the weak November sun has barely started to light the room. Alex always sleeps late. Derek used to use the empty hours before Alex woke up to go out for bagels and orange juice, so he could have them waiting.

He feels a little groggy this morning, but not as bad as he feared he would. He gets up to brush his teeth and to let Alex wake up a little.

When he comes back, Alex is spread out all over the bed, legs splayed wide, only partially covered by the sheet. His eyes are closed, but he's not sleeping anymore. He doesn't lose any charm points for being obvious, though. Derek wants to wake him up slowly, licks and bites until Alex can't pretend to sleep anymore.

"Wake up," says Derek roughly instead. Alex is getting married in a week. The time for long slow morning fucks is over.

Alex cracks one eye open. "I thought—"

"You thought wrong." He pauses for a cruel moment and then pulls the lube out of the bedside table and tosses it to him. "Get yourself ready."

Alex flushes, but does as he's told, slicking up his fingers and reaching around to finger himself. He looks unbelievably good doing it, eyes closed except when he sneaks them open to look at Derek.

It's not so easy to reach yourself, though, even with long arms and long fingers, so Derek helps him out after a few minutes. Now Alex watches him, eyes worried, and Derek can imagine too well what he's thinking, wondering if he's doing it right, if there's a way he can do it better. Or maybe he's just trying not to come too soon.

"Your turn," he says as he takes a moment to slide on a condom. Then he replaces Alex's fingers with his dick and holds Alex's hands down by his sides, lacing their fingers together. It's unkind to both of them to do this face-to-face, the way they used to when they couldn't get enough of each other. Alex would take it, would like it, however Derek wanted it, but this is how both of them liked it best, Alex's legs spread around him.

When Alex comes he wraps his legs around Derek's waist and holds him there until he's ready for Derek to move again. He smiles just enough for his dimples to show while he holds Derek prisoner, but neither of them say anything. The moment is too fragile.

Derek breaks it on purpose by fucking Alex hard and fast to his own orgasm. He comes hard enough to make his legs shaky when he tries to stand, but he can't flop down next to Alex the way he wants to and wait until they have enough energy to do it again. Instead he pretends that his legs haven't gone to jelly, and pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"Don't you have brunch or something with your guests?" he asks when his back is turned so he doesn't have to watch Alex's face fall.

"Yeah. You're right." He sits up. The sheet is tangled around one of his legs. "I'll see you around."

Derek goes into the kitchen to make a protein shake. He hears Alex rummaging around to find his clothes and letting himself out. Derek doesn't watch him go.

 **4\. 2005**

Alex is sleeping two rows behind him, curled against the window with a thin airplane blanket wrapped messily around him. Sleep frees him from the scowl of concentration that he wears most of the time now. He's inching closer to all kinds of records, but the only time he really looks happy is when the rest of the club congratulates him after a home run. Derek feels badly about that sometimes, but then Alex hits another fucking home run and he can't forgive being that good and that thoughtless. If Alex sucked, it would be different. Then his words to the press would be jealousy and nothing else, even if they still had the sting of truth.

Alex apologized a million times, but until Derek can reconcile the sweet guy who desperately wants the rest of the team to like him with someone who can stab him in the back to the press, Derek can't forgive. He would never have done that, no matter how much he envied Alex.

"When will you forgive me?" Alex finally asked.

What's between "never" and "already have"? He can't say either one, so instead he says, "Not yet." And, "It'll take a while."

"You trashed me in the press and then got married," he couldn't say. "It wasn't supposed to be like that."

It's dark and almost everyone is asleep. He should sleep too. Alex shifts in his seat and lets the blanket fall. Some unpleasant dream creases his forehead, and Derek shivers. The plane is freezing, but it's beyond that, the deep chill of tiredness and sunburn that sinks in after the game is over and night is fallen.

No one is watching. Derek pulls the blanket up around Alex's shoulders and watches the line between his eyebrows smooth out.

 **5\. 2008**

The golden haze of Tampa's late afternoon sun filters through the gauzy hotel curtains. The air conditioning is going full blast, but the air is still warm, and Derek's arm sticks to him where they're touching. Still, Alex doesn't want to move.

"The season's really started now," he says.

"Why? Because there was a brawl?" Derek shakes his head, but can't help smiling. "Shelley's an idiot."

Girardi wanted to keep most of the starters out of it, and it would have been a good idea even if it didn't also mean him and Derek got an afternoon off together. That made it a great idea.

"Good managing," he'll say tomorrow in the dugout, and try not to make eye contact with Derek as he does.

"Not because of the brawl," says Alex, the side of his mouth turning up. "Because of this."

He half expects Derek to say something to shoot him down and steels himself for it. He's beyond tired of having to wait for Derek's forgiveness, but the other possibility is no Derek at all, and he's getting closer all the time.

But instead Derek says lightly, "Yeah, it's pretty great," as he sits up. His back has red marks on it from Alex's fingers. "Shower?"

They shower together, soaping each other like they used to, getting hard and hot again. Derek strokes him off in the shower, pressing him against the cold tile wall, like old days.

Alex pulls on his shorts and a t-shirt while Derek shaves, and sits on the bed flipping through Derek's meager collection of take out menus while he waits for him to be done.

When Derek comes out of the bathroom Alex asks, "So does this mean I can spend the night?"

Derek smiles and throws a towel at him. "Well, yeah," he says. "What are we having for dinner?"


End file.
